Queen's Rise Novels & Stories

Her hair was pinned, her heels sharp, her voice sharper. “You think you’ve seen me at my most dangerous,” she told the executives. “But I’m just getting started.” Outside, the city turned its gaze back to her. And somewhere deep in the shadows… someone else watched. Waiting. Plotting. Because the queen had risen. And not everyone was ready to kneel.

I murmured in warning, hoping that would rein him in and shut him up, but I’d never been able to control a thing he’d ever said or done before, so I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to stop him now. He glanced at me, still chuckling. “What? Don’t you find it as ridiculous as I do?” “Not really,” I said under my breath. I kind of liked the idea of power coming to an underdog. In fact, if the ruling class were decided upon through merit instead of ranking birth order, I think I would respect it even more so. “The future queen of High Cliff,” Prince Urban spoke up, his voice clear and level and brooking no room for counterargument, “is going to be the queen. And that is all.”

"Rise, my women! Rise!" she stood up to lift her hands to the air, her voice so confident and loud. All of the banshee women stood in a queue only to chant one name. "Queen!" "Queen!" "Queen?' The pride in her face was priceless, Genevieve somewhat thought of herself as a Queen. These banshee women were too naive to understand her game plan. And everything was going according to her plan. Just then she stepped forward, passing by the women she was getting a curtsy from them.

he agreed passionately kissing me fully. I was extremely blessed beyond measure. Who would have thought, a thirteen year old bastard daughter of a king would rise to become the most powerful werewolf Queen that ever lived? May our lineage live on after us. What started as a small planned rebellion against Submission, led to a tremendous victory and the Rise of the Bastards! What a twisted fate....

His smile had faded into expression of respectful recognition as friendship yielded momentarily to the reality of what his ally had always been beneath careful restraint. The power continued to build, pressing against reality with force that made the air itself seem thick and electric. Communication crystals throughout the network flared with increased brilliance as the energy radiating from the newly crowned queen amplified their signals beyond normal operational parameters. Across dozens of kingdoms, distant courts watched in stunned silence as their screens showed assembly of the most powerful nobles in the known world kneeling in perfect unison before authority that transcended political

But Seren did not hear them. She walked toward the cliff’s edge, barefoot, aflame. Toward the war. Toward the gods. Toward the crownless future. Because thrones could be stolen. But sovereignty, That had to be burned into the world itself. And from the edges of every realm, mountain, sea, temple, and void, the wind carried one message. Not a prophecy. A reckoning. “The Queen of Dust has risen.” “The world will bow.” “Or it will burn.”

I am utterly in awe of the beautiful creature in front of me. “Our mate.” Rohan mutters dreamily. “Our queen.” I agree.

He had shed his royal robes for simpler clothing, and for the first time in memory, he looked more like the young god who had walked the earth with Hera than the mighty king who ruled from Olympus's highest peak. "Hera speaks truly," he said, standing beside them and placing a hand on his wife's shoulder in a gesture of quiet affection. "I have spent too many years believing that power meant control, that greatness meant standing above others. But watching you work, Lysander—watching how you see the divine in the mortal and the mortal in the divine—I've come to understand that true greatness lies in lifting others up, in helping them find their own light." He turned to address the growing cr

His slightly rough, large hand roamed, sliding down toward Sarah’s fair, delicate thighs, then forcefully pried them apart, preventing her legs from closing. “Be a good girl… I’ll give it to you right away.” As if sensing Sarah’s anxiety and burning desire, he offered a low, seductive reassurance. Yet between his legs, his erection rose without warning; the scorching, rigid shaft stood tall, a powerful symbol of masculinity that showcased his dominance and lust.

“They’ll remember who rules them now.” He kissed my temple. “And they’ll never dare touch you again.” Not every crown is forged from gold. Some are built from ashes. And I—Ashyrel of the Phoenix Throne—rose from every one they lit beneath me. Let this be a warning. Queens don’t beg. We reign. ---